“Whatever.” He brushes me off. “Let’s go deal with the drama.”
Quinton tells Nova to stay inside, then we head outside and start toward the neighbors who are still rambling about something in front of their open door.
“I don’t even fucking know his name,” I mutter as we approach them.
“I think it’s Zedd,” Quinton replies as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“How’d you find that out?”
“I heard his girlfriend screaming at him.”
I shake my head. God, it’s like I’ve crossed back into the past. The feeling only amplifies when we reach Zedd and his girlfriend and I hand him the money.
He counts it out then scowls. “This is only a hundred,” he tells me with a tick in his jaw.
“Like I told you I was going to pay you,” I say, wondering if I was this big of an idiot when I was spun.
Probably more.
Shaking his head, he hands the bills to his girlfriend then crosses his thin arms and stares me down, attempting to be intimidating. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to get Skullman involved.”
“Yeah, I have a theory that this Skullman might be a figment of your imagination,” Quinton says from beside me.
Zedd’s gaze cuts to Quinton. “Who the fuck are you?”
“His backup.” Quinton nods his head at me while carrying Zedd’s gaze.
“Fuck you both,” he says, eyeing us over. Worry flashes across his sunken in face when he notices we’re in shape and not strung out, that we could easily beat his ass. “You’re going to pay for this. You’ll see. Skullman is real.” Then he scampers inside and slams the door.
“God, were we that stupid?” I ask as Quinton and I make our way back to our room.
Quinton erupts with laughter. “Oh, yeah. Remember that whole ordeal with Trace?”
“Yeah, but that was caused by my stupidity, not yours.” I gaze up at the stars as I reach for my cigarettes in my shirt pocket.
“We both dealt for him,” he responds.
I offer him a cigarette and he takes one. We stand out in front of the door in the dark, the night air warm and quiet.
“It seems like such a long time ago,” he remarks as he flicks the ash from the cigarette.
I take a drag. “What does?”
He shrugs. “That life. Drugs. All the shittiness.”
“Not for me. It seems pretty recent. Although, that feeling has kind of faded over the last couple of weeks.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Why?”
He shrugs then relaxes against the door, staring down at the cigarette in his hand. “You seem different lately.”
“Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “Remember, it was just a couple of weeks ago when you had to babysit my drunk ass.”
“Yeah, and I also remember how you dumped meth down the toilet instead of snorting it.”
“Well, I was confused.”
“Are you confused now?” he wonders as he moves the cigarette toward his mouth.
“All the damn time.” I stare at the road while cigarette smoke circles my face. “But I do feel different.”
“I can tell.” He pauses. “And I think I know why.”
“If you go there, man, you’ll sound just like Nova,” I warn as I graze my thumb along the bottom of the cigarette, sprinkling ash everywhere.
“That’s a compliment.” He flicks the butt to the ground then turns to go inside, but pauses in the doorway. “I don’t miss it at all. That life. I think about what we could have been—how Dylan and Delilah turned out—and I’m glad… that I didn’t end up like either of them.”
I hesitate. He’s said this to me before. Usually, I just brush him off, but now, the need to say something back burns at my tongue. Before I can even comprehend what I’m doing, I’m opening my mouth.
“You know what? I’m glad I didn’t, either.”
Two years and seven months earlier…
Chapter 27
I want to give up.
Avery
I want to give up. That’s all I can think anymore. Surrender. Stop breathing. Give Conner what he wants every time he raises his fist.
The kicking.
The yelling.
Getting beaten down.
Sinking into the ground.
Vanishing into a ghost.
Soon, all there’ll be left of me is bones.
“I fucking hate you.” Conner bashes his fist against my cheek. I almost feel the pain through the alcohol in my system, but not quite. “You are so fucking worthless.” Hate burns in his eyes, and his venomous tone conveys the truth. He does loathe me. Blames me.
And now he wants to destroy me.
I used to fight. Used to feel. Used to want to live.
But now…
I can’t find the will to care.
So I let him beat me until I’m bloody and battered and curled up on the floor. Only then does he feel satisfied enough to step away and lower his fists.
He takes a good look at me and shakes his head as he wipes my blood from his face. “See what you make me do!” he shouts.
I start to cry, not for myself, but because Mason calls out from his bedroom.
“Great! And now you’ve woken him up.”
I don’t utter a word, even as he waits for me to speak. My silence seems to enrage him, and he starts pacing the small space of the living room between the sofa and the bookshelf.
“You are so goddamn annoying. Seriously, I bust my balls for you, trying to give you more money like you asked, but nothing is ever good enough for you.” He stops and stares down at me with his bloodshot eyes.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I listen to the sound of my heart thrashing in my chest, hating it.
“Why can’t you be grateful?” As he crouches down beside me, I close my eyes. “I’m dealing drugs so you can be happy. Do you know how many husbands will do that?”
I don’t answer him. Yes, I hate that he deals drugs, have told him so. But every time I open my mouth, I anger him. And then he hits me and paints his knuckles with my blood. Somehow, it makes him feel better until the next time I open my mouth.
“Fuck you,” he finally says, standing back up. “I’m out of here. You’re worthless.” He storms out the door, and I hear glass shatter, but I don’t move—can’t move—because I know he’s right. I am worthless. I’m broken.
And I don’t really care.
About anything anymore.
Chapter 28